


two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks

by delta_trevino



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Car Accidents, Dishes, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Sexual Content, mild spoilers if you don’t know what happens after the time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_trevino/pseuds/delta_trevino
Summary: “I’ll just-” Bokuto kissed him, firmly and with the ease only he had. Akaashi’s hands automatically floated up to wind in his multicoloured hair, words dying in his throat.“Good idea,” Bokuto grinned. “I’ll just kiss the love of my life.”Or, a sequence of Akaashi and Bokuto taking on life together.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Kozume Kenma, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou (minor), Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi (minor)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49





	two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks

**Author's Note:**

> scales of intensity:
> 
> fluff: 7/10  
> angst: 8/10  
> lemon: 2.5/10 (mention, not too explicit)
> 
> PLS READ! if you'd like all the tw's and warnings please go to the bottom notes, and then you can decide if you'd still like to read it. also, tags. thank you.
> 
> i've also heard this is sadder than i thought it was, so please proceed with caution. check in on your headspace :)

Akaashi liked routines. He wasn’t dependent on them, but the motions of laundry were calming and he didn’t mind the dishes. There obviously was a “too much” eventually, but Akaashi was indifferent to the necessary evil chores. 

Bokuto, on the other hand, whined and groaned his way through them. He was diligent about them, though. He never liked letting Akaashi do them all, even if Akaashi insisted it wasn’t a big deal. So Bokuto would wash their sink and take out the trash, dust their few flat serves and water their plants. 

They had a calendar in their shared apartment. One marked to take out the trash on Tuesdays, to water their succulents once a month, and the other plants twice a week. When to change the oil in their sputtering red car, and birthdays. It was peppered with circled dates for Bokuto’s games and important deadlines from Akaashi’s work or special nights just for them. Little things, like pancake day, or the first day of spring.

Electronic calendars were so much more practical and transportable, but Akaashi liked the real thing The ink on little date squares and the way he would check them off. Bokuto was enthusiastic about it, using sticky notes next to it when dates became too full or he had other things to say. 

_There’s extra jam in the cupboard_ , or _can you put the laundry in the dryer?_ _Don’t forget to text Hinata happy birthday! today_ or _Kuroo was here._

Bokuto really enjoyed watering the plants. He had named them all and picked them out with much interest, listening to the sales clerk about how to maintain them best and save them if they’re on the brink of death. 

Akaashi, contrary to most people's existence, was partial to the dishes. Not after big parties with Bokuto’s entire team but the small meals that were just them. 

Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. 

Maybe a pot, or whatever they used to cook but generally it took him about seven minutes, or approximately two songs to wash their piles of dirty dishes and stack them in the drying rack. Bokuto would hum along and dry them with a cloth or have a cup of tea and wait for Akaashi to join him.   
  
  


Like today, Bokuto was trying some spicy mint tea Kenma had recommended to Akaashi. Apparently it was good for headaches. 

“It’s tingly. If you mixed porcupine and the plant they put above people's heads during Christmas, this would be the taste,” Bokuto observed. He was in grey sweats, all bundled up for the incoming snow. 

“Mistletoe,” Akaashi reminded him absentmindedly. He was swiping soap over the last pair of chopsticks, running them under water. 

“We should get some of that,” Bokuto grinned mischievously. He looked a little like his high school self with that troublesome smile on mixed with pride. “To hang on our doorways.” 

“We have a grand total of two doorways,” Akaashi pointed out. Their apartment was small. “But we will.”

“Come try the tea,” Bokuto urged, kicking his feet up onto another dining chair and blowing over his mug. “You’ll like it.” 

“Coming, coming,” Akaashi dropped the chopsticks in the drying rack and squeezed the water out of the white and green sponge. He dried his hands off with a dishcloth before balling it up in his hand. 

“Think fast!” Akaashi called, the dishcloth streaking towards Bokuto over the table. His boyfriend snatched it out the air. He grinned. “Almost lost that one.” 

“Maybe next time.” Akaashi was always trying to catch Bokuto off guard and Bokuto was always good at recorperating. 

“Maybe,” Bokuto challenged. He threw the towel back in a lazy fashion, high and easy for Akaashi to catch and fold over the oven railing. 

The tea was good. Kenma always had good recommendations. Akaashi cupped the mug in his hand, fanning away the steam. Two feet nudged his lap, Bokuto’s socks now resting in his lap. 

“Hi.” Akaashi nudged his knee to the side. Bokuto’s legs shifted to accommodate that, crossing his ankles over Akaashi’s lap. 

“Oh.” Bokuto grinned like Akaashi had suddenly caught his eye. “Hi.” 

Akaashi wondered if Bokuto had just never left the honeymoon phase. He was always so attentive and enamoured, always happy and sweet and eager. Of course, Bokuto just had a beautiful personality on his own, but even through their fights and arguments Bokuto was wonderfully receptive and kind. It was crazy how patient and endearing he could be.

  
  
  
Even when Akaashi was struggling with his half of the rent, and insisting he took on some more shifts at his other job, stressed and overwhelmed Bokuto had been nothing but helpful. 

“No, no, Keiji, don’t do that,” Bokuto had insisted on their slumped couch, hands intertwined and binging an episode before dinner cleanup. “You’re about to get sick right now already from working yourself to the bone and you don’t even like Daishou-san.” Daishou, his boss, was the type of person who you couldn’t tell if he was joking or insulting you. 

“But now I’m two months behind, and I was so adamant about this being a fifty-fifty.” Akaashi wasn’t paying any attention to the screen. His company had been a little slower than usual, and combined with extra transportation costs and yet another two wedding presents he had to buy put him behind Bokuto in paying rent. Obviously, fresh out of college students weren’t rolling in money but Akaashi hated asking anyone, even if it was Bokuto, for anything. “I’ll just take two or three more shifts a week.” 

“You will not,” Bokuto stated firmly. “Look at you. You’re exhausted.”

Akaashi raked a hand through his hair. He was exhausted, bags under his eyes and legs tired. But there wasn’t time to be sitting still. 

“I’ll just-” Bokuto kissed him, firmly and with the ease only he had. Akaashi’s hands automatically floated up to wind in his multicoloured hair, words dying in his throat. 

“Good idea,” Bokuto grinned. “I’ll just kiss the love of my life.” 

Akaashi rolled his eyes but his mouth broke out into a smile. He kissed Bokuto again softly. “I’ll be on time next month, I promise.” 

“Okay,” Bokuto agreed easily, like he always did. 

They watched the end of the episode of whatever criminal mystery show they were watching but it took Akaashi most of the time to figure out what they had missed. It was a cliffhanger at the end anyway, leaving Bokuto itching for the “play next episode,” button and Akaashi for an analysis that would get him interested. 

“I’ll do the dishes, you watch,” Akaashi proposed. He stood up slowly, careful not to let the blood rush to his feet too fast. 

“S’okay, I’ll wait an extra ten minutes,” Bokuto bounded up, propelling Akaashi by the shoulders towards the sink. “We’re going to clean these dishes so fast they won’t even know.”

Akaashi laughed. He settled behind the sink, and Bokuto brought everything over from the stove and the table. 

Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. 

This time there was also a frying pan full of stir fry and a giant wooden spoon. 

Bokuto discussed theories about the next episode as Akaashi lathered and rinsed the dishes, setting them to dry and cleaning down the sink. 

“Maybe that side dude, the one with the evil haircut is actually the mastermind,” Bokuto guessed. “He seems suspicious.”

“Or perhaps the side dude is being manipulated because he wants to take over that medical chain,” Akaashi pitched in. 

Bokuto grabbed Akaashi and yanked him back to the couch in a hurry when Akaashi dropped the last cup into the drying rack.

“Okay, okay.” Akaashi slid into Bokuto’s arms. They wrapped around him, coming to rest in his lap and play with his fingers. Akaashi sighed contentedly. He loved that. He loved this. He loved Bokuto. 

Akaashi ended up falling asleep half way through, but he was right. The side dude had been being manipulated and Bokuto was thunderstruck once again by Akaashi’s clairvoyance. 

  
  
  
There were times Akaashi could barely get through the routine of the dishes. When Bokuto nudged his feet a few too many times during dinner, gaze lingering heavily and Akaashi could already feel his back aching. 

“Kou,” Akaashi warned. Bokuto had arms locked around his middle, mouth kissing up and down Akaashi’s neck. Akaashi had barely even started the dishes. 

Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. 

“Keiji,” Bokuto whined under his breath. “The dishes can wait.” 

“So can you,” Akaashi said evenly. Bokuto groaned. He nuzzled Akaashi’s neck, kissing his jaw and his ear, his cheek and his ear. 

Akaashi hummed with pleasure, hands fumbling in soap. 

“Kou-,” Akaashi nudged his head with his own elbow. “You’re distracting.” 

“I know,” Bokuto nipped at his jaw. “That’s the point.”

Akaashi let out a shaky breath at a bite to the left of his Adam’s apple. Bokuto’s hands were so warm, so touchy, so homely. 

“You know what-” Akaashi decided, his blood hot. “The dishes can wait.” 

Bokuto smiled, biting down harder in the juncture where he knew Akaashi liked it. 

“Fuck, Kou-” Akaashi’s hands were dripping. He swatted them against his pants, leaving imprints before turning to grab Bokuto’s face and kissing him properly. “Bedroom.” 

Bokuto hoisted Akaashi up under his thighs, fingers digging and shooting electricity up his legs. Akaashi straddled him, hands over his shoulders and still kissing him. Blindly they made it to their bedroom, where Bokuto playfully dropped him on the bed. 

“Kou!” Akaashi scolded. They’d been reprimanded but their neighbours to be quiet on numerous accounts. The first time Akaashi had nearly blacked out from embarrassment. Now he was used to it, apologizing with cookies and a smile.

“We’re not even having sex yet,” Bokuto whined as they heard a tap hit their floor. 

Akaashi huffed, before pulling Bokuto down on top of him for another round of kissing and kissing and kissing. 

The dishes ended up waiting the entire night, and then a few hours longer in the morning after Akaashi woke up to Bokuto and his dopey smile. 

He had to do them with aching hips and an after-glow. 

Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. 

  
  
  
Sometimes Bokuto insisted on doing the dishes. He’d leap up after dinner on days Akaashi was particularly tired, or when there were “too many for one person.” 

“That’s too much soap, Kou,” Akaashi corrected. Bokuto had a habit of just dumping on the soap when he did the dishes and today was no exception. “Just enough to clean the dishes.” 

“I know, I know,” Bokuto continued to drizzle blue soap over the plates. Akaashi resigned himself to watching Bokuto clean as best as he could, kicking back with a cup of green tea. He dropped a tea bag into Bokuto’s mug, who liked his tea only slightly less strong than Akaashi. They had long ago abandoned glasses for mugs now.

Akaashi fiddled with his music, settling on shuffling a recent album release. Bokuto hummed along automatically, hands working over the plates. 

Akaashi liked to soak the sponge in soap, and use that to clean the dishes. Bokuto preferred to fill the sink with a layer of water and let the dishes swim around as he worked on them individually.

“Can I?” Bokuto asked, holding up the dripping sponge, debating between the green and yellow sides.

“Green,” Akaashi clarified. The pan could be scrubbed with the green side of the sponge. “It’s not teflon.” 

“Okay,” Bokuto grinned. “Not teflon equals green.” Akaashi nodded in affirmation. 

Ten minutes later, he was staring at the excess amount of soap in the sink. “Kou-” Akaashi made his way across the kitchen and stood next to Bokuto, lathering up his own hands. Bubbles frothed and suds climbed his wrists.

Bokuto watched him in fascination as Akaashi uncurled his hand from a fist into a loose circle, blowing into it; created by his thumb and pointer finger. A bubble expanded on the other end of his hand. Closing his hand, he created a sphere of transparent shimmy soap. Reopening his fist, the bubble shifted to the center of his palm.

“Magic,” Bokuto breathed. 

“Sorcery indeed,” Akaashi readily agreed. “Here.” He slowly moved his hands towards Bokuto’s, intent on giving him the bubble. But the second it hit Bokuto’s hands, it popped. 

Bokuto moved to squeeze more soap on his hands, mimicking Akaashi’s way of making a bubble. His face split into a smile at the shiny orb. 

“Look, Keiji,” Bokuto grinned. “I got it.” 

Akaashi flicked a finger at Bokuto’s bubble as if to pop it. 

“Ah - I won’t allow that.” Bokuto snatched his bubble back, forgetting sudden movement would pop it. Akaashi laughed at his forgetfulness and then at how quickly Bokuto made a new one. 

Akaashi blew into his hands, watching the bubble expand and expand on the other side. It was just getting really lofty when Bokuto stuck his finger on it. The bubble burst, some water specks falling on his shirt and arms. 

“How dare you.” Akaashi narrowed his eyes. 

Bokuto laughed with joy. 

“How dare you,” Akaashi said again, flicking his fingers at Bokuto. His boyfriend flinched from the sudden water and then retaliated. Drops fell onto Akaashi’s cheek and his arms, splattering his shirt and the counter. 

“You did not.” Akaashi turned on the sink faucet and stuck his hands under. Water rinsed the soap off and without mercy Akaashi swung his hands towards Bokuto. 

“Ah! Keiji!” Bokuto tried to shield himself with his arms, which did nothing. Akaashi’s face was split into a smile. “Keiji!”

Akaashi smiled grandly. “Yes?” 

And then Bokuto reached for the sink too, hands cupping water and the next second Akaashi felt the cold shock on his skin, his shirt starting to stick to him. Flecks of water were still falling on him, teasing his senses and his hands dripped with water. 

Akaashi lunged for the sink again, breathless and laughing as Bokuto stuck his hands under too. The water pressure suddenly increased and Bokuto used his own hands to redirect the water. It streamed up Akaashi’s forearms, over the side of the sink and onto the floor. Drops fell on his socks as Akaashi jumped back, hands held over the sink and shirt sporting a soaked patch now. 

“Kou!” Akaashi cried, gesturing towards his shirt which was clinging to his stomach and unpleasantly cold. Then he pulled on the extendable part of the faucet, aiming it towards Bokuto. The full force of the faucet hit Bokuto’s chest, water instantly drenched his shirt and splattering on his hair. Akaashi tried his best to keep the faucet still while he was laughing. 

Bokuto tried leaping out of the way, protesting and trying to avoid the gathering puddles on the floor. His laugh was ringing, music to Akaashi’s ears. 

“Keiji! Stop! Ack! Kei-” He stepped in a puddle. 

The water sputtered once, so Akaashi put the extendable faucet back where it was supposed to go and took in his work. 

Bokuto looked like a wet cat, some of his hair drooping and some still dry. His shirt and pants were tie dyed with water spots. Water rolled down Bokuto’s face and chest, a smile still sitting on his face.

“You’re evil,” Bokuto insisted. And then he lunged for Akaashi. Akaashi tried to scuttle away, only to find big hands wrapping around him and being smothered in a Bokuto hug, complete with a wet shirt and still partially soapy hands. 

“You’re eviler.” Akaashi said against Bokuto’s shoulder, the ends of Bokuto’s hair tickling his nose. Bokuto was really good at giving hugs. Arms snug around his shoulders, chest to chest, holding him in such a tender way.

“Well, I did the dishes so,” Bokuto pointed out. Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. 

“So?” Akaashi teased. 

Bokuto huffed. He pulled back to plant a forehead kiss on Akaashi. 

“So I’m less evil.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” 

“Yeah, you do the dishes all the time and usually you’re the less evil one. Except today you drenched me like a Spartan soldier with a spear. That’s dangerous you know, Keiji.” 

“Mhmm.” 

  
  
  
Sometimes when Bokuto was still at a practice game or Akaashi was working late they didn’t do the dishes together. That was okay. Sometimes Akaashi would do them all with music and then wait for Bokuto while idly catching up on work, or leave them for Bokuto when he was beyond tired. Occasionally Akaashi would come home to a sparkling kitchen and a simple dinner, or a grand, luxurious dinner Bokuto had tried to make for fun and a thousand dishes in the sink. 

Today was one of those days. 

“I ran out of spoons, so I ended up washing those, did you know it takes a million spoons to make this?” Bokuto rambled, standing against the counter. This was pork bone soup, a Korean dish Akaashi loved.

“Actually, that's just because I had to keep tasting it because I was worried I put too much or too little salt and would ruin it, anyway, I hope you like it,” Bokuto continued.

“Let’s try it,” Akaashi decided. “I’m sure it’s good.”

It was surprisingly good for Bokuto’s first try. Both of them were by no means geniuses in the kitchen but Akaashi was impressed. A little too much salt, but it was the thought that made Akaashi’s chest swell in affection. Pork bone soup was one of the harder dishes Bokuto had attempted, and it had been for Akaashi, and Akaashi was so grateful. 

“I got the dishes,” Akaashi stood up, sliding his phone across the table for Bokuto to pick songs. Bokuto always preferred the upbeat, more mainstream music whereas Akaashi liked almost anything save for indistinguishable worded rap or something that had been so clearly modled after being catchy, not the artist's true expression. 

“I’ll clear with you.” Bokuto stood up after deciding on a new album Akaashi hadn’t heard of. He brought his dishes over, leaving their mugs for tea later. 

“Okay.” Akaashi recounted his day, the awful printer jam and how no one worked at work, in between Bokuto’s stories of Hinata taking yet another volleyball to the face and Sakusa spraying Atsumu with Febreze in the eyes when he got a little too close.

Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. Three pots (Akaashi’s didn’t know where they came from), all their spoons and Bokuto’s lunch dishes. 

“Hey.” Akaashi stopped Bokuto for a moment, swiping his hands over the dish towel even though the dishes weren’t done. Bokuto turned in confusion, two tea bags of lavender tea in his hand from the cupboard. “Thank you.” 

Akaashi pulled on Bokuto’s collar, kissing him softly. 

“Yeah.” Bokuto got that dopey smile on his face again. “Yeah.” 

Akaashi kissed him again.   
  
  


“Let me do some.” Kuroo nudged Akaashi’s side. They were wrapping up dinner, Kenma and Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi, Suga and Daichi. 

Suga and Akaashi had reconnected in their second year college classes, hitting it off and going for coffee right after their awfully early lectures. Now, they came over for dinners or went on walks when their schedules allowed it.

Of course, Kenma and Kuroo came over religiously. It wasn’t unusual to find Kenma sitting on their couch when Kuroo was on a cleaning streak or Kuroo raiding their tea cupboard. This meeting had been a month overdue, Kuroo had insisted he wanted to see Suga again. Last time Kuroo and Suga had met Akaashi had to physically restrain Bokuto from chucking colourful paper airplanes off the balcony. They were some of the best enablers Akaashi knew.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kenma said over his tea. “Akaashi likes the dishes for some weird reason.” 

Suga grinned. “He probably gets a stupid kick out of doing something so domestic for him and Bokuto.”

Akaashi felt his neck heat up. Suga wasn’t wrong. 

“That’s still a lot,” Kuroo looked doubtful at the dishes. Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. And then about a billion more. “Go sit down with Kenma and the lovebirds. You can do the dishes tomorrow.”

Suga sputtered like he wasn’t shoulder to shoulder with Daichi. 

“Yeah, love, c’mere,” Bokuto reached out his hands from their table. Akaashi relented, wiping his hands and throwing Kuroo a grateful look. 

Suga stood up, grabbing his mug and Kenma’s to fill. Akaashi followed with his mug. Today they picked vanilla green tea, something sweet for Kenma and extra festive since Christmas was about to roll around. 

“Don’t worry,” Suga threw Akaashi a smile from pouring tea. Steam rose from their steeper, filling the kitchen with a warm smell. “Daichi and I get a stupid kick out of it too.” Suga motioned for Akaashi to set down his mug so Suga could fill it. “I thought it would go away after a few months of living together but I still don’t mind when Sunday morning rolls around and I have to pick up all his crusty laundry or tidy the stacks of books and papers.” Suga sighed with endearment. 

“I understand.” Most people hated the dishes. Akaashi really didn’t mind them. “It’s calming, kind of. Therapeutic.” 

“Why are you both so perfect and weird,” Kuroo pitched in over the run of water. “Most people can’t stand chores.” 

“No, don’t get me wrong, I hate cleaning the bathroom or anything with compost and killing spiders - don’t even get me started,” Suga denied. “But it’s not-” he halted, looking at Daichi across the kitchen. “Awful.” 

“Spare me your semantics,” Kuroo tsked over the clock. 

“Kuroo-san, don’t act like you won’t do anything for Kozume,” Akaashi raised an eyebrow, taking his cup back to the table. Bokuto patted the seat next to him, folding an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder comfortably. 

“He won’t,” Kenma shot him a glare. Kuroo seemed to wither under the stare, shrinking. 

“It’s not healthy to be streaming Valorant until 3 am,” Kuroo protested. 

“Why not, Kuroo? Are you an expert now?” Suga challenged, a whisper of a smile on the edge of his mouth. 

“Koushi,” Daichi started tiredly. He knew Kuroo and Suga could go on forever and forever with their debates. Suga passed him his mug, a beaming smile accompanying it. 

“Daichi,” Suga teased. 

“So what do you guys want for Christmas?” Kenma injected, giving Kuroo a pointed look at the dishes. 

Bokuto perked up. “Two pieces of mistletoe and new compression knee pads. Oh, and this other plant.” Akaashi had been hearing about this plant non-stop, apparently it was going to be named Anchor because the tiny leaves were actually shaped like dolphins. Bokuto was so interested in the idea of animals on plants. 

  
  
  
They ended up getting Anchor, who fit in perfectly with their other succulents and yellow flowers. It was a good addition although their plant shelf was now overrun. 

“Keiji.” 

“Yes, Kou?” Akaashi was examining the plants on the shelf as Bokuto did the dishes behind him. Two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks. 

“Do you like this sink?” Bokuto guestered towards the leaking sink. They were going to have to have the landlord come look at it. It had started leaking yesterday, an annoying drip, drip, drip. 

“I mean, it’s alright.” Akaashi liked how it had an extendable reach and moved pretty smoothly. There wasn’t necessarily anything wrong with the sink. 

“I was thinking we should get something different in our house, like one with a deeper second sink or more space. Because the dishes end up stacking up when we have a lot of people over and eventually I want to be able to trim plants in the sink instead of the counter.” Their counter always got messy when Bokuto attempted pruning any of the plants, soil and browning leaves oftenlittering the floor. “What do you think?” 

Akaashi choked, full attention on Bokuto. “Our house?” 

Bokuto caught on. He pressed his lips together and nodded, slowly and then with vigour. Akaashi’s breath was fast, his heartbeat the most salient thing he could hear, and the world slowed incrementally. 

“Our house.” Akaashi said faintly. That was a very serious thing. Houses were some of the biggest purchases in your life. And a house. For him. And Bokuto. For them. 

“I mean, I hope you’ll want to buy a house with me.” Bokuto threw out a smile. 

“That’s a very coupley thing to do,” Akaashi swallowed.

“We’re a couple.”

“A married couple thing to do.” 

Bokuto paused. “So, maybe after we get married we should get a house?” 

Akaashi choked again. “Are you?” 

“What?” Bokuto looked surprised and flustered and there was a blush on his cheeks. “No, well, yes, I mean, eventually, if you’ll let me, but I just-”

Bokuto scratched the back of his head, even though his hands were wet. “I was just thinking.” 

It wasn’t like Akaashi and Bokuto had never talked about marriage, or the future, but still. It was a foreign concept, when they were so comfortable with each other now and happy. Akaashi knew Bokuto was the one he wanted to grow old with, he had for a while, but it was still a very serious and somewhat idealistic scenario in his head. A dream. 

“Alright.” Akaashi tried to calm his heart. “That would’ve been a very abrupt proposal.” 

Bokuto hummed.

“I wouldn’t mind it though,” Akaashi remarked, his cheeks flaming and resisting the urge to curl into a ball. Bokuto turned to him with shimmery eyes, a smile glowing and he leaped towards Akaashi with soapy hands. 

“KEIJI!”   
  
  


In fact, Akaashi had been the one to propose first. He’d seen Bokuto watching the snow out of the window with fascination after they woke up in late February, and knew this was what he wanted. He wanted to wake up with Bokuto, and host parties for their friends together, and take care of their plants, and do it all in their own house. 

So, Akaashi had wrangled Kenma and Kuroo to a ring shop the same day when Bokuto was at practice, dragging them around in his red car until they found a good ring. Kuroo had been ecstatic, already blathering about the wedding and how he was going to give the best speech. 

“Keiji, I was going to propose first,” Bokuto complained, his eyes still tracing the ring on his finger. It was solid silver, with some swirls of diamonds. Minimal, but pretty and it got the message across. They were engaged. Engaged. 

“Slowpoke,” Akaashi grinned. They were cuddling on the couch, Bokuto vibrating with happiness and Akaashi warm with content and joy. It had taken him two more weeks to go over what he wanted to say and find a good time to propose. In the end, he’d settled on a walk past Fukurodani, when his heart was beating too fast and too hard that he just had to propose. 

Bokuto had seen Akaashi on one knee with the box and completely bowled him over, a breathless “yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, of course, my god, yes.”

And now they had matching rings, with mirroring designs. 

“I suppose we should add this date to our calendar,” Akaashi added, running his fingers over Bokuto’s ringed finger. 

“Of course we will.” Bokuto had kissed the top of his head. “I love you, Keiji.” 

“I love you too,” Akaashi kissed his hands. Strong, pretty, hands. 

“I love you,” Bokuto shifted so he could kiss Akaashi properly. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” 

Akaashi kissed him back, the metallic on his finger a little cold and a little perfect. 

He couldn’t wait for the rest of his life. For growing old with Bokuto, and keeping their own calendar, for doing two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks everyday and just being in love with his soulmate. 

  
  
  
Suga and Daichi helped immensely with wedding plans and the technical parts, whereas Kenma got a photographer on board and Kuroo handled the reception. Akaashi and Bokuto’s wedding was a simple event, with around a hundred people.

All of Bokuto’s team came, along with all of Fukurodani, travelling from many different parts of Japan. Hinata was there, crying and crying so hard Kageyama kept hitting him in between giving him tissues and telling him to stop uncomfortably. Komi and Konoha attended with plants as gifts, making sure Akaashi got them before the reception and exchanging fist bumps with Bokuto. 

There were little mistakes, like Atsumu tripping over his feet and falling onto Sakusa, or Akaashi’s mother being way too early and Bokuto fumbling through his vows, but it was perfect. Akaashi thought it was perfect. 

And it was perfect as they saved up to buy a house, and grew their plants, kept up with their calendar, hosted Daichi and Suga over, handled crunch weeks and little stressors that came with being alive. Taxes, and budgeting, if they had enough ice cream, how to dress for certain events. 

It was easy for Akaashi to be married to Bokuto. His finger felt weird without his ring now, and waking up with his husband was natural. Quite easy. 

“Can I just,” Bokuto reached over Akaashi to snatch the sponge after he had been working on them for twenty minutes already. “No more dishes.”

“Kou.” Akaashi held his hand out. 

“Go sit. Shoo.” 

Akaashi lost the stare off. He settled on the table, wondering if they could get a bigger one if they had a house. They were saving up, but it wasn’t a crucial purchase to make. This apartment was theirs and Akaashi honestly wouldn’t care so much if he spent the rest of his life here.

That was also easy. To be with Bokuto. 

Watch him rock to the music, concentrated on the two cups, two plates, two pairs of chopsticks.   
  
  


Sometimes, when Akaashi finished the dishes late Bokuto would grab him by the hands and spin him around, falling into a dance. They would shuffle on the tilted floor, socks padding against the floor and swaying to the music. 

“Skip this one,” Akaashi nudged Bokuto. Bokuto obliged, clicking skip for the next song. Ah. One of Akaashi’s favourites. 

Arms tightened around Akaashi’s middle, hands intertwined behind his hips. Akaashi rested his forehead on Bokuto’s, arms resting on his shoulders. 

It was quiet, save for the music and their breathing, and everything was good with the world. 

“Here,” Bokuto maneuvered Akaashi into a light dip, pecking his lips at the bottom. Akaashi felt a smile reflexivity light up his face. Back upright, he kissed Bokuto on the lips. Slowly, slowly, slowly like they had forever and time was stopping.

“When I first met you and messed up your name, I was worried you’d be irritated at me forever,” Bokuto recalled from high school. 

Akaashi shook his head. “People had done it before, and as you can see, I didn’t dislike you.”

“Lucky me,” Bokuto thumbed over Akaashi’s cheekbone. 

“Lucky you indeed.” 

Akaashi knew he was the lucky one. Bokuto was the world, a star, he was bright. Akaashi was lucky to be here with him. 

The two of them swayed back and forth, in tune with the music. 

  
  
  
“Love, I’m going to be late, don’t wait to eat, okay?” Bokuto said over the phone, apologetic and distracted. Akaashi frowned at the soba noodles on the stove, a phone held to his ear. 

“What time?” 

Some static. “I’m not sure, the rain is really bad, but maybe 20 minutes?” 

Akaashi could deal. “Okay. Stay safe.”

“I will. I’m sorry. I’ll hurry-” Bokuto was cut out. “-love you.” 

“Love you too,” Akaashi said like always. “See you soon.” 

“See ya!” A beep. Akaashi sighed. He had timed the soba and the fish to be ready at the same time. Oh well. He could push the fish back about ten minutes and leave them slightly undercooked in the pan. 

Really, he should’ve expected it. The rain was horrendous today, torrents of water slamming into the ground and branches falling left and right. Akaashi putzed around their apartment; fussing over Anchor and the plants with some water, reviewing their calendar and wondering if he and Bokuto should go and pick up another batch of tea for this weekend. Kenma wanted to try one with sugar cane or something. 

Akaashi was restless. Sure, he liked it when people were timely and maybe he was a little annoyed now all the soba timing was off, but the level of restlessness was abnormal. He flicked on the T.V. only to turn it off, drafted a text to Suga to delete it.

Maybe he was just eager to see Bokuto. It was fair, they were in love and it had been a long day. Akaashi humoured the idea of cuddling with his husband under blankets on their couch, especially with the harsh wind outside, and watching some episode of whatever Bokuto wanted. Another crime show or cooking contest. That would be nice. 

Twenty-five minutes had passed, Akaashi trying to read an adventure story but absorbing nothing, when his phone rang. 

_Kou._ Akaashi felt relief ripple through him.

“Oh, Kou, I was getting worried,” Akaashi said into the phone immediately, smiling a little. “Is the rain that bad?”

“Sorry-” 

It wasn’t Bokuto. The voice was less expressive, higher pitched and the tempo was all wrong. That was weird.

“Sorry, is this Akaashi Keiji?” 

His name sounded weird on someone’s else's tongue. Akaashi nodded before he remembered the receiving end can’t see that. “Yeah.” 

It wasn’t Kuroo, or Kenma. Or Suga. Akaashi briefly wondered if Bokuto was playing a prank on him. 

“Please take this calmly. There’s been an accident.” 

  
  
  
Akaashi was underwater. It was blurry. Hazy. Everything was shimmering and fluctuating. 

Kuroo was there when Akaashi got to the scene. It looked straight out of Bokuto’s shows. Police cars with sirens on, and officers directing the traffic with bright beacons. There was his, no their, red car. The front was completely crippled and metal parts from the car were being swept up by another officer with a broom. 

A tall woman was talking to the police, a brown scarf falling off her shoulders and distress even Akaashi could see from meters away. Akaashi walked towards her and three officers, one of them taking notes so he could find Bokuto. There was an ambulance off to the side, its lights flashing and blurring with the rain. The rain had let up to just spitting, flecks falling on Akaashi’s glasses and his face. 

He was a few steps away from the officer when a hand fell on his shoulder. Kuroo. And Kenma beside him, clutching onto Kuroo’s arm. Akaashi turned towards them.

And he knew. 

Kuroo’s face was broken, crumpled under hard eyes and a mouth that stretched into a thin line. 

Akaashi looked around frantically, eyes whipping from the ground to the traffic passing them, scanning the officers and the stretcher next to the ambulance. The stretcher? 

“Akaashi.” Kuroo grabbed his shoulder right before Akaashi started running. “Wait.” 

Akaashi shook his head. No, no, no, nononono. _No._

“Akaashi.” Kenma touched his other shoulder, feather light. Akaashi found Kenma’s eyes. Devoid. 

“Akaashi, I’m sorry,” Kuroo choked, clenching the hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” 

Akaashi looked to Kenma for an explanation. For something. Anything. He peeled himself away from their hands and darted over to the stretcher. They brought these out all the time, right? Just in case, in case something happened. 

Someone yelled at Akaashi to stop. He didn’t. 

Even before he got close to the stretcher Akaashi knew under the cloth was the one who used to be Bokuto. That was his height, and his proportions. His strong arms and long legs outlined in the blue cloth. 

Akaashi’s breath hitched. 

It looked like Bokuto was asleep under their sheets, in their bed after Akaashi had woken up early. 

“Hey.” An officer stepped in front of Akaashi. “Please listen to me. What’s your affiliation with the victim?” 

_Victim?_ Akaashi stared dumbfoundedly at the officer. 

“We can’t let you pass unless you’re immediate family or-”

“His husband,” Akaashi interrupted. He was struck by an impulse to pull out his hands from his pockets and show her the ring, the gold one that matched Bokuto’s, but he didn’t. The woman officer’s expression had melted into something too close to pity for Akaashi’s comfort. 

“Okay, my condolences,” she muttered and stepped aside. “It’s viewable.” _It?_

Akaashi hesitated before lifting up the cloth near Bokuto’s head. He was vaguely aware of Kuroo and Kenma watching him a few steps behind, and the sirens still flashing into his eyes, mixed with rain and streaking across his glasses. He hesitated because it really did look like Bokuto was asleep in their sheets, like he could roll over and kiss Akaashi’s nose, or had just collapsed from a cold shower or mind-blowing sex or anything really. 

But that wasn’t the case. 

The first thing Akaashi noticed was Bokuto’s hair was wet from the rain. He held himself back from running a hand through Bokuto’s dyed roots, combing out the water like he normally would. 

Then Akaashi noticed everything else at once. Bokuto was wearing his after-practice tee-shirt, some sports logo sideways on it and two of Akaashi’s hickey’s peeked out from the collarbone. Bokuto’s mouth was parted slightly, his smile lines enunciated and eyes just closed. 

When Akaashi nudged the cloth up a little further down, and exposed Bokuto’s hand, he had to close his eyes momentarily. The gold ring was on his finger still, matching Akaashi’s alive ones. It was still shiny, and it still fit him perfectly. 

“Kou,” Akaashi called gently. He took Bokuto’s hands in his. It was too cold, even for the rain and the wind. Too still. 

“Kou-” Words fled him. 

He could ask Bokuto to wake up. He could ask Bokuto to stay with him. He could ask Bokuto to just, just- open his eyes again. He could ask for Bokuto to hold his hand again, to smile, to say his name. 

But that wasn’t fair to Bokuto. So all Akaashi did was drink in the shape of Bokuto’s face, and his eyes, the awfully dyed hair and love bites, and curve of his arms and the ring on his finger. He stared, and stared, and stared. 

“Excuse me,” another officer said to him gently. Akaashi nodded, holding up a hand for another moment. The officer nodded. 

“Kou,” Akaashi called again. His tears joined the rain falling on Bokuto’s shirt. “Kou, I love you.” 

“I love you, Iloveyou, Iloveyou.” Akaashi pressed a kiss to his forehead before letting go of Bokuto’s hands. “I love you, Koutarou Bokuto.”

He watched the officers duck their heads at Akaashi in thanks and sadness, wheeling Bokuto, or his body, into the ambulance and drive further than Akaashi could reach. 

  
  
  
The soba was cold when Akaashi got back home. Kuroo had dropped him off. He had offered for Akaashi to stay with him and Kenma today. Akaashi declined. 

That’s when it hit. He crumpled against the counter, back to the drawers and knees to his chest, sinking into a lonely sea. It was dark, and deep, and Akaashi felt an immeasurable weight slam into his heart. 

There were imprints of Bokuto right there, right beyond his fingertips, but somehow they were empty. The calendar and the plants, all the teas and the stupid recorded crime shows. Sure, they were there. But they weren’t anything without Bokuto. 

Tears streaked down Akaashi’s face, grief mixed with anger and shock and so many emotions Akaashi was tempted to just block out. But they were coming in faster and faster and faster, and then Akaashi was sobbing and falling apart, he was falling apart so fast without Bokuto. 

Maybe Akaashi screamed. Maybe he hit the floor. Maybe he cried until his shirt was soaked. Maybe he just sat there and let the tears stream down his face. 

_Oh,_ he thought. _Oh. This is what it would feel like if the world was ending._

It was numbing and overwhelming and multiple times throughout the night Akaashi reached out only to retract his hands, empty. 

Akaashi slept on the floor that night because he wasn’t going to sleep in their bed alone. 

  
  
  
Kuroo had taken care of the legal matters. He’d had the rest of their red car towed to his house, done whatever paperwork there had been and gathered everything Akaashi and Bokuto owned in the car for Akaashi. He brought up personal injury lawyers and wrongful death lawsuits to Akaashi, who only shook his head.

The mug was cold in his hands. Kenma pried it out of his fingers to get new, hot tea, even though they all knew Akaashi wouldn’t drink it. He was sitting on their couch in sweatpants and a shirt- Bokuto’s shirt- or a shirt that had been Bokuto’s. Kenma and Kuroo were on the other stools across from him.

Apparently from what they knew, the police gathered Bokuto had been turning left at the intersection. The lady coming in the opposite direction had blown the red light, and slammed into him almost head on. The rain had made it hard to see for both of them. Her speed and the kinetic force had killed him instantly, snapping his neck.

That could’ve been minutes, if not seconds after Akaashi had hung up on the phone with Bokuto. 

“He must’ve been scared,” Akaashi said after Kuroo’s painful recount. In the split seconds before, Bokuto had probably seen the car coming at him with full force. 

Kenma passed Akaashi his mug again. Akaashi took it so his hands had something to hold. 

Kuroo just nodded. His eyes were red. Kenma’s were too, and his face was puffy. 

“Akaashi,” Kuroo started. 

“Please leave,” Akaashi interrupted. He knew Kuroo was about to lecture him, or tell him Bokuto loved him very much, or something he really couldn’t handle. 

“Go ahead.” Kenma kicked Kuroo’s leg. Kuroo shot Kenma an empty look before standing up and clapping Akaashi on the shoulder. Kenma was quiet until they both heard the door click closed. 

The cup was taken from his hands again, and Kenma dropped onto the couch. He wrapped his arms around Akaashi as best as he could, Akaashi knew Kenma wasn’t partial to hugs, pulling Akaashi’s head down into his chest. Kenma stayed like that, letting tears drip yet again from Akaashi’s eyes, and Akaashi tremble in his arms.   
  
  


The clock was too loud for their apartment without Bokuto. The calendar was too sparse. The plants died sometime after the funeral. Akaashi took them down. 

  
  
  
It was lonely. It was so lonely. So Akaashi would turn on the tv for some kind of white noise, and a crime show would be playing, or he’d shuffle music and it would be a song they danced to. Akaashi stopped listening and the chasm grew.

  
  
  
One of the worst parts of everything was the stupid dishes. 

Akaashi would cry after he finished breakfast and the dishes stared back at him. One cup, one plate, one pair of chopsticks. 

Even when Akaashi made another dish, to distract himself or try something, it was awful. There were no kisses, no humming along to non-existent music, no water fights or bubbles to pop, no guests to entertain, no eager hands on his waist, and no Bokuto. 

One cup, one plate, one pair of chopsticks. 

Akaashi hated it. 

  
  
  
Akaashi hated routine now. 

He hated waking up to a cold bed, to empty flower shelves, and bleak chores he would do on autopilot. He hated the calls he got from his parents and Bokuto’s parents that he would inevitably cry on. He hated the cards and check-ins from acquaintances except Kuroo and Kenma, who let him not drink any tea, and Daichi and Suga, who made him laugh sometimes. 

He hated watching the Christmas season pass without any mistletoe. He hated driving now. 

And he really hated the dishes. He hated the soap and the sponge, and faucet and the very essence of them. Akaashi often let the dishes pile up now, stacking them in the sink and leaving them until dinner because he couldn’t do them otherwise. 

He couldn’t. 

One cup, one plate, one pair of chopsticks. 

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: major character death  
> tw: death, car accidents (not explicit or graphic), aftermath of death and loss
> 
> \---
> 
> so while i was looking at the timeskip of haikyuu i was thinking wow, we're really lucky haruichi furudate didn't just yeet a character off, because accidents and early, tragic deaths happen all the time. 
> 
> i wrote one to explore the possibilities, but i'm not sure i like how it played out. since it's an accident, a surprise, foreshadowing has to be done in a different way and hmm. 
> 
> also i'm fully aware some of the stuff here probs wouldn't work out like this in the real world but oh well. that's the beauty of fic.
> 
> props to my sister for reading. i hate you less.


End file.
